


A Division of Ideas, Hearts and Minds

by Azurehue22



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:14:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21727375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azurehue22/pseuds/Azurehue22
Summary: What if the Alliance doesn't settle for peace after Battle for Azeroth, and instead splits down the middle? A retelling of lore, with original characters, explaining the long path to a bloody civil war within the Alliance. On hiatus due to lack of readers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. Worthless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jaakkola](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaakkola/gifts).



> I tend to write in shorts. So things don't flow as a novel would, they are in chunks that tell of a specific character at a specific time. This should help you figure out my style of writing. Because of this, my chapters tend to be short.

Stormwind was certainly living up to its name. Rain fell, thick and heavy, across the city. It seemed to mirror Anduin’s mood. He gazed out the windows of his quarters, clouded as they were by the rain, his thoughts dark.  
In the thirty or so years since the founding of the Alliance, this was the first time it had fallen. Splintered, was a more apt term. Once so solid, the Alliance stood on shaky ground. And it was all Anduin’s fault. He looked down, gazing at the ever-polished blade of Shalamayne, disgusted at his reflection. He was weak. He was nothing. He didn’t deserve to hold this blade. His father would be disappointed. And in the end, despite his rocky relationship with Varian, he desperately wanted the validation from his father that he was doing things right. Varian would never have let the Alliance fall. He’d never have let Teldrassil fall, either. Or allow the constantly insubordination Anduin faced from his advisors. Genn, Tyrande, Alleria, Turalyon. Compared to them, he was but a speck of dust, a mote of insignifance. Who was he to demand they fall in line?

With a grunt of disgust, he shoved the blade away, turning towards the fire. It was enough to hear the whispers. It was another to disregard them entirely. He had to keep a bold face turned ever towards the sun. The remainder of his people; native Stormwindians, Dwarves, Gnomes, and a small mix of Dreanei, Pandaren, and their newfound Alliances, needed to see at his strongest. He could pretend, sure, but it was hard to go on living with a gaping wound in his heart. 

The one thing that kept him sane, he suspected, was Taelia. The wedding had gone well. It seemed awful to hold a wedding at a time such as this, with the Alliance in such a way, but Kayleigh, Marcus, everyone around him told him it would be a welcome distraction for the Kingdom. Truth be told, he was glad to be wed. Taelia filled the hole in him whenever she was around. Which was a lot less, of late. She’d been out, performing duties that a King should be doing, but was more suited to the current Queen. Taelia had the brawn. Anduin was…

He squeezed his shut, sinking into a chair. A knock at the door shook him out of his reverie.  
“Leave me!” He shouted, blond hair falling into his eyes. The command was ignored. He heard the door open, and shut, and light, careful footsteps approach. It must be Kayleigh. Only a few people would ignore his commands to be left alone; Taelia, Marcus, Olivia, and his step-mother. He didn’t turn to face her as she pulled a chair close to his. His eyes remained focused on the fire.

“It isn’t your fault, you know.” She knew the location of his thoughts.  
“I fail to see how it isn’t.” He turned to look at her with disinterested eyes. Kayleigh was a beautiful woman; elegant, regal. When he’d first seen her, he was still a child, and she a half-starved vagrant that his father had saved from drowning during a particularly dangerous storm. Twenty years had passed since then. Kayleigh had given Varian two more children, and his death had not treated her well. Her once plump face was gaunter, and lines criss-crossed the corners of her lips and eyes.  
“Your philosophy has always been one of peace, Anduin. The Alliance leadership knew this. They swore fealty to you. It is not your fault.”  
“My philosophy has gotten good men killed in vain.” Kayleigh didn’t wince. She simply gazed at him.  
“Varian sent men to their deaths as well. His doctrine was no better, perhaps worse. You have done nothing wrong.”  
“I’m weak.”  
“I refuse to hear you say that.” He stood up. Kayleigh remained sitting, looking up at him with level eyes.  
“Tell me! Do you believe in me?” He needed to hear her say yes. He needed the validation of his step-mother, the only mother he ever knew. She nodded without hesitation.  
“Yes.” He sat back down, a weight taken off his chest.  
“However, I don’t agree with your view.” The weight piled back on, agonizing. He looked at her, eyes pleading. He needed to understand. Why? Why couldn’t she be on his side when no one else was?  
“I guess I can understand the ones who desire vengeance.” She stated. He turned away, eyes back to the fire.  
“The cycle of hatred must be broken.” The words seemed foreign to his lips. Did he even believe in them? Yes. Yes he did. They just seemed so…naïve.  
“I wish it could happen.”  
“I have to believe it can happen, Kayleigh. Or my entire existence is a sham.” He sighed. Kayleigh looked around. He noticed her taking in his failed attempt at drowning his troubles, and the discarded Shalamayne, laying on the floor, gleaming brightly.  
“I’m glad you didn’t turn to drink.” She crossed over to the liquor, putting it away in a cabinet on the far side of the wall. Anduin shrugged.  
“I’ve never had a taste for the stuff. Besides, it doesn’t seem to help.”  
“You’re right. It doesn’t help. Something your father never understood.” She walked over the where Shalamayne lay, picking up the weapon with a grunt. It was incredibly heavy; Anduin had to train with it for months before the weight became second nature. He was surprised she could lift it. She handed it to him. He took it.  
“I never want to see this laying on the floor like a piece of rubbish again, you understand me?” Her voice was severe, level, and he found himself ashamed.  
“I…I’m sorry.” He caught sight of his reflection. Rosy patches of shame had risen on his cheeks, giving color to his gaunt and shadowed face. Kayleigh pulled him into a hug. He let her hold him; she was, after all, the only parent he had. He loved her unconditionally, and he was grateful she felt the same way.

“It will pass. Nothing lasts forever, Anduin.” She looked over the wall, where portraits of the previous Kings hung.  
“We know that better than anyone.”


	2. Fire, Claws and Arrows

The mountains separating Darkshore from Felwood were perpetually shrouded in fog. It made scouting difficult, especially in cursed rain, falling in blanketing heaps from an endless sky. Still, it was nothing for Zeke Firebrand. His magic dried the air, evaporating mists and raindrops as they fell, leaving him with a clear view of the once hidden Horde encampment below. 

Zeke stood, one lazy hand holding his crystalline staff, the other tracing patterns and symbols into the air. A mindless way to pass the time, waiting for those without wings to clamber up the mountain. 

Finally, a figure climbed lithely up the rock, body shrouded in a thick cloak to ward off the rain. Despite the clothing, Zeke knew immediately who it was.

“Tyrande. Glad you were able to join me.”  
“The day I cannot climb a simple hillside is the day I have truly died, Firebrand.” Her voice used to be rather musical, a deep, calming whisper, fitting her name. Now, all her words were laced with venom, every syllable holding a thorny bite. Zeke couldn’t blame her; the near extinction of your people would do that.

“Have you seen Genn? I sent word of my position.” He asked, not looking at her. In his peripherals, he saw her shake her head. Teal hair, wet despite the hood, escaped its mock prison. 

“Are you sure the old hound can make it?” He heard the mirth in her words, and smiled.

“Bold words from someone ten thousand years my senior, high priestess.” Gruff, angry and blistering, Genn found purchase in the stone by scratching hand holds with sharp claws. He pulled himself up, teeth bared in an eternal grimace. Zeke gestured to the encampment below. 

“Now that we’re all here...” He waited for their input.  
“A listening post. Despite the war being over, the Horde still demands information on our holdings in Darkshore.” Tyrande sniffed, her visage flushed dark blue with anger. Genn growled. 

“Many of these savages worked the catapults that turned Teldrassil into a pyre.”  
Zeke grinned. His desire for vengeance was strong. He had no wish to ‘forgive’ the Horde, and place all blame on Sylvanas. She had merely given an order. The Horde had willingly followed. They all deserved death, and agonizing ones at that. He turned to his fellows. They were among those in the Alliance who had no desire to break the cycle. It lead to a splintered faction, torn down the middle: those that believed in Peace, and those that desired Vengeance.

“Seems a pity to wake our meager troops for such a small force.” Zeke flexed the fingers on his staff, smiling at the words. Tyrande lowered her hood, grinning with sharp, pointed teeth. 

“We shouldn’t risk them. We can wipe them up quickly enough on our own.” She narrowed her black eyes, spotting something in the camp. 

“Goblin listening devices. There. And there.” She pointed to each in turn, before turning her eyes on Zeke. 

“Destroy them.” He nodded. He turned to Genn. “Can you get down?” The old King eyed him with a lupine stare, incredulous. 

“You insult me. Let us move, I don’t want the bastards to catch our scent.” He leapt of the rock, landing on all fours below. Zeke grinned, tapping his staff on the stone below. Fire circled him, the flames taking shape, becoming luminescent feathers, shrouding him in a whorl if energy, leaving a Phoenix in his place. Tyrande sniffed, unimpressed. “Do not betray our position, Zeke. Leave the commander to me.” He let out a soft caw of derision, before diving, flying close to the rock.

He had to be careful his innate heat would burn away the mist. He planned a grand entrance, a distraction with destruction. He flew to the center of the camp, and hovered, his form shifting to that of a person. Dark skin, red hair. He fit his name. “Firebrand” had been given to him by a fellow mage after a duel that had left his opponent with a burning brand burned into his temple. Zeke grinned at the memory, before focusing, drawing crystals from his rucksack and letting them float in the air. This spell was absolute destruction and required an incredible amount of mana. He breathed in, feeling the crystals around him drain as their power flooded into his veins. He held in the magic, reveling in the power, before raising his arms, and sweeping them down. Fire ripped through the air, coalescing into flaming meteors. These fell, tearing through the mist before plummeting to earth. Shouts of surprise and terror met his ears. Zeke let himself fall, landing in a crater, wreathed in flame.  
Chaos surrounded him. His initial attack had left pockets in the landscape. Tents burned, and ash filled his lungs as he breathed. Arrows zipped past him, and the snarling of a worgen met his ears. He allowed the chaos, the destruction, to fall past him. His initial attack had done the job, now it was the others turn to have their fun. 

Noise from behind. Someone was running at him, their fat, thunderous footsteps blatant despite the screaming. He turned on his heel, a fireball forming at his fingertips. An orc had tried to rush him, his arms held above his head, axe at the ready. His lips curled in a scream as the fireball tore through his torso, leaving nothing but a smoldering corpse. Zeke stepped up, examining the orc with disinterest. 

He continued his slow movement forward, igniting tents, combusting orcs, trolls, and forsaken, many of whom were just waking up. The casual slaughter would have disturbed him a few months ago; now he cared little. He was no worse than those he killed; people who so easily committed mass genocide on helpless civilians. Screams echoed around him, throaty yells and the snarling of a worgen. Arrows zipping through the air, meeting their mark in a shower of blood. Zeke didn’t grin; he wasn’t that savage, but he felt a warm sense of justice as he watched the Horde soldiers fall around him in bloody heaps.   
“Are you going to earn your keep, or just stand there, mage?” Zeke turned on his heel, glaring as the hulking, grey form of Genn strode out of the gloom. Covered in blood, he grinned, completely self-satisfied. Zeke adjusted his grip on his staff.  
“If you weren’t aware, the fire is entirely my doing.”  
“Ah yes, you did a great job of herding them into my general direction.” Zeke drummed the end of his staff on the ground.   
“Ah Genn. So old, and still so good at blathering.” Zeke smirked, wiping red hair, steadily getting soaked, out of his eyes.  
“My age means nothing.” Genn snapped. His fur, by contrast to Zeke’s hair, was soaked through with blood and rain. A normally pure silver, it was now a dark grey.   
“You keep saying that, but everyone has to face it eventually. I myself must come to terms with the fact I am not as young as I once was.” Genn, stepped forward, giant paws leaving tracks in the muddy ground.  
“Ah, so old you are. What are you, around twenty?”  
“I’ll be thirty-three come November.” The old wolf snorted.

“Where is Tyrande?”  
“Enjoying herself, no doubt. Pulling tusks out by the root, sending arrows through necks. Paralyzing with an arrow to the spine.” Genn’s yellow eyes met Zekes.  
“You’ve thought about it.”  
“There are many ways to kill a man. Even more ways to kill an orc.” He looked down at him. Zeke sighed, and turned, robes billowing, smelling the musk and stank of blood and muck.   
“I’m tired of waiting. I’ll scout for stragglers. You…do whatever you want.” Zeke hunched over, his hands becoming fists, and then hooves. Hair sprouting from every pore. His face elongated, ears rising up his head to becoming pointed and pivoted. A massive Planore kicked out at the mud, hooves aflame with ghostly fire. Zeke thundered through the camp, uncaring of the sounds he made as he tore into tents, searching for hiding victims. He found a few, tearing into them, crushing them under hooves, until he landed on something he didn’t expect.

A child. A young orc girl, clutching a doll shaped like a boar. Her eyes were huge and brown, and she looked up at him in pure terror.  
“You…kill…father!” She panted, trying desperately to push herself backwards, her back scraping the tent fabric. Zeke simply stared. She spoke broken common. Why was she here? This was a war camp. It shouldn’t have a civilian population.  
“Why are you here, little girl?” he asked in orcish. Her eyes widened, the fear more pronounced then ever. She shook her head.  
“I won’t speak to you! You…killed him! Why? WHY?!”  
“I did.” He wouldn’t lie to her. She clutched the boar tighter, then dived underneath the tent canvas, climbing out through the soft mud. Zeke blinked through the tent, grabbing her by the shoulders.  
“GET OFF ME!” She screamed in orcish. Zeke held on tighter.  
“I’m not going to hurt you. But you can’t stay here!”  
“I want my daddy! He promised me he’d take me to see the circus. I’ve never seen the circus. He got me this boar! I snuck inside the caravan!” She was reduced to harsh sobs and babbles, and Zeke’s high from the crushing victory was crashing down. These orcs weren’t just murderers…they were fathers, brothers, sisters, mothers. Nausea threatened to overwhelm him. All around him was blood and death. Orcs lay face down in the muck, cushions for arrows. Others fried to a crisp; still others eviscerated by claws and teeth. This girl saw all of it. She looked up at him, teeth bared. She was just starting to get her tusks.

“You’re scary. Like a monster. Why did you kill them? I’ll kill you!”  
“I guess I am. A monster, that is.” She looked taken aback by his admission.   
“I…We killed them because they…” How did he explain that? In her eyes, nothing her father did deserved his death.  
“You can’t stay here.” He whispered. The grounds were silent now. Apart from the crackle of the flames and the steady mist falling to the ground, nothing stirred. No breath of wind rustled the tents. The little girl shook her head violently, stumbling out of his grasp.

“I’m not leaving daddy!” She screamed and turned to run. He dashed after her, meaning to grab her, but wasn’t fast enough. An arrow sliced through the hair and shot her through the heart. Zeke screamed, the sound ripped from his throat like a sword through flesh. The girl collapsed, blood ekeing out of her mouth, pooling on the ground below. Her plush boar lay forgotten. He approached her body, falling to his knees.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were to kill adults. Soldiers. Not civilians. Especially not children. He felt tears come to his eyes, which he angrily wiped away as he turned and shouted to the gloom.  
“SHE WAS A CHILD, TYRANDE!”  
“That child would have compromised our position.” A voice replied. Cool. Indifferent. She had no remorse for what she’d done.  
“WE WOULD HAVE BEEN LONG GONE! I ALREADY TOLD YOU, WE LEAVE CIVLEANS ALONE!” Swift padded footfalls from behind, and Genn arrived. He took one look at the girl, eyed Zeke, before turning on his heel, his yellow eyes able to discern Tyrande from a distance.  
“This is monstrous, Tyrande.” A scoff.  
“That is rich, coming from you.”  
“The deaths of children are not something I plan to be known about.” Finally, Zeke was able to see her. A silver line of death with teal highlights, eyes so black they seemed pits of darkness. Was there anything left of this woman? Had the banshee killed all that was good in her? The Tyrande he’d heard about several years ago would have never killed an orcish child.

“If you two aren’t willing to do what is necessary to see this through, then off with you. I do not need you slowing me down.” She jumped back into the gloom. Genn paused, glanced at the girl, and back at Zeke.  
“I’ll speak with her.”  
“That isn’t necessary. She won’t listen.” Genn sighed his reluctant agreement.  
“This girl wasn’t supposed to be here. Let us hope that…this won’t be repeated.”  
“Oh it will be, Zeke Firebrand. If there is anything I’ve learned in my long, long years, it’s that children are wounded the most by war. More than any of us.” He turned his yellow eyes upon the husk that was Teldrassil. Nothing but charred remains now.  
“We need to move. Quickly.” He took off into the underbrush, padded footfalls growing fainter and fainter, until they were gone. Zeke still knelt by the corpse of the girl. It didn’t feel right, leaving her here to be found, away from her father. He picked her up and began examining the corpses of those he slaughtered. One orc was of note; a heavier set man, with greenish brown skin and tusks that curved towards the eyes. He had the exact same hair as the girl he carried in his arms. A quick rummage through his belongings brought out a photograph. It wasn’t as good as those gnomish cameras could take, but it was still clear that the picture was of him, a orc woman and the little girl. He gazed at it for a time, thinking hard.

Were they doing the right thing? Was this really…the right path? He shook himself, crumpling the photograph and placing the girl next to her father. At least in death, they would be reunited. She didn’t have the miss him anymore. One last thing to do.

Rummaging in his own rucksack, he produced a banner. Blue silk with gold trimming, the Alliance sigil glimmered in the firelight, damp by the rain. He picked up a stake, left over from tents, and rammed it into the ground, spearing the banner on top of it. It flapped in the short gusts of wind caused by the fire, casting a shadow about the corpses of father and daughter. Zeke withdrew a knife from his belt, and twirling it in his fingers, thought of what he was doing. He was, quite literally, tearing the Alliance in half. He acted, dragging the knife from top to bottom, spearing the banner and slitting it in half. The lion was marred, split down the middle. He gazed at it for a time, before turning on his heel, transforming, and taking off at a gallop into the woods.


	3. An Unexpected Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It ruins all my formatting when I c/p ...

“You look good, you know.”

“That’s all you can say?” Olivia switched hands with the brush, tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear. She eyed Flynn, who was below, calling out words of advice on the painting.  
“I mean, it looks good. The painting. I mean, you look good too, obviously.” He stopped, grinning at her.   
“You’re rambling again, Flynn Fairwind.”  
“I tend to do that when you’re around.” He began to climb. He wasn’t as graceful as Olivia; his climbing skills were devoted to wooden masts and nets, not nearly shear marble bricks. Still, he found footholds, swearing under his breath, as he joined her.  
“Must you find the tiniest ledges to paint?”  
“I’ve painted nearly the entire Kingdom at this point. The tiniest ledges are the only canvas left.” She turned back to her painting. It was a mosaic. Each brick of the small area she’d mapped out was a different color, and it formed a perfect gnomish crest. The Alliances tiny members deserved some recognition in her art. She scratched her chin with the end of the brush, thinking. Just a few more details.  
“You know Olivia, with the war being over…”  
“Has Mathias given you a full-time job?”   
“Wha? No. Mathias would never offer me a job.” He raised his hands in a mock gesture of refusal.  
“What makes you say that?”  
“-with the war being-. I mean, I haven’t spoken to the man in months. I don’t exactly get along with the Alliance elite.” He looked flustered, an odd expression for the man. Olivia turned to him.  
“I’ve asked him to approach you.” She grinned as he looked at her with shock.  
“You what?”  
“I…well, we…that being Anduin and I…” She seemed lost for words temporarily. She’d grown close to the man in the few years they’d been at war with the Horde. He was funny, intelligent, and damn good with a sword. Plus, he took her places. She wasn’t locked up in Stormwind, under close guard. She went to Boralus. She was even mugged! It had been exhilarating.  
“Anduin and I feel it would be best if you remained close.” He exhaled hard, fluttering his mustache.   
“I’m not sure that’s wise.”  
“Why not?” Her words came out as a whine.  
“I’m a seafaring man.”  
“Stormwind is a seafaring nation. Works perfectly.”  
“Not like Boralus.”  
“Boralus is our ally now. You can catch a ship or a portal whenever-.”  
“Olivia, I wanted to ask if you’d come live with me in Boralus. A royal prescense would be good for overlooking the city, plus we could…” He cut off, swallowing hard.  
“Live…with you?” Was he asking her to marry him? Light, she was a real mess. Hair done up in a messy bun, no make-up, wearing a filthy, paint smeared dress that a vagrant would find unappealing. It was comfortable, and perfect for art, but it was NOT the sort of outfit you were proposed too in.  
“Yes. I’ve a pretty big name for myself, you know. Hero of the Fourth War! Flynn Fairwind, Captain of the Alliance. Nice ring to it, right? Plus, with Taelia being here…”  
“Are you asking me…”  
“To marry me, yes. In my idiotic way, I guess I am. Don’t tell your brother, he wouldn’t approve.”  
“You idiot. Of course I’ll have to tell my brother.”  
“The broad one then, right? Torstan.”  
“NO!” She laughed at the absurdity. She knew he was kidding, but.”  
“You want to marry me?”  
“You’re kidding me, right? I mean I’m a corsair, a thief, the scourge of Azeroth’s seas and you’re…a Princess of Stormwind. I should be asking you that.” She bit her lip. Her feet dangled from the ledge; they were at least ten feet up, maybe more. The constant wind that gave Stormwind her name blew, rustling her skirt, send her hair flying about her face. She tucked it back, annoyed.  
“I mean…I’m Olivia Wrynn.”  
“Thank the Light. I thought you’d forgotten your name.”  
“Flynn…I’m serious. I figured my dad would have chased off all suitors and my brother would be so overprotective I’d never find a man.”  
“Well, you found one. And I’ve grown…quite attached.” He blushed. Olivia giggled, taking his arm. He grinned, grabbing her hand in turn.  
“That sounded almost serious!”  
“I can be sometimes.”  
“Well…I say yes to the proposal, but maybe to moving.” His smile faded.  
“I can’t stay in Stormwind, Olivia.” She panicked, grasping at words to get him to stay. He couldn’t leave. Not now. Not after what she’d just said.  
“Sure you can! It’s so much…”  
“Olivia…”  
“Just wait until you hear Mathias’s proposition. The Alliance is hitting a crossroad; civil war may be close on the horizon and I…well, we need everyone close by.”  
“Civil War?” He raised a brow. Olivia let go of his hand and stood up, balancing on the ledge. It was a service duct of a clock tower between the Old Town and Dwarven District, and offered a great vantage of a dingy alleyway running into the red-roofed Old Town.  
“Don’t tell anyone I said that. I suppose I can trust you.”  
“Not the best of people to trust, but I’ll keep my mouth shut.” He eyed her.  
“I won’t make you decide right now. But Olivia, I’m going. With or without you.” He made to hop off, but she placed a hand on his shoulder.”  
“I’m a Princess. I can just order you to stay.” He grinned.  
“Ah, love. Not going to work on me. I’m the dashing rogue, remember?” He slipped off, landing with a soft thud on the cobbled ground, he looked up at her.

“Going to jump? I’ll catch you!” He held his arms up, grinning. She rolled her eyes, smiled despite herself, and jumped, landing catlike below. He stared at his empty arms for a moment, before looking down at her.   
“Alright then, don’t accept my-.” She hugged him, needless of the stares.  
“Arms? I don’t need to jump into them, but I’d love to be in them anyways.” 

She invited Flynn to dinner. He made the usual attempts to weasel his way out, saying he had places to be, people to see, but she stomped on them, taking him by the wrist into the kitchens.  
“Flynn, you HAVE to try my mothers cooking at least once while you’re here.” She’d dragged him to the firepit, where stew was bubbling. Her mother, Lady Kayleigh Wrynn, hummed softly to herself, her emerald necklace drooping dangerously close to the pot.   
“Taste testing?” She asked, eyeing Flynn, who leaned against a wall, smirking as he watched Olivia grab a wooden spoon from the cabinet and dip it into the stew.  
“I’m trying to convince Flynn to stay for dinner.”  
“Well, the stew is hardly ready. I doubt it’ll convince him.”

It was sometime before the subject was broached again. Olivia stood caught her brother after dinner. Anduin was disheveled these days. His hair was losing its golden luster, and his eyes held permanent half moons of shadow under them. She worried for him, which was why the very thought of leaving for Boralus upset her. She couldn’t leave her brother; not when he was in this state. Not when the Alliance was so close to splitting in half.  
“Anduin?”  
“I’m tired, Olivia.” He rubbed his eyes, bloodshot as they were, and looked at her through his fingers.  
“You loose oddly worried.”  
“Flynn asked me to marry him.” She meant to tell him easily, but the words fell out of her mouth before she could stop them. Anduin gaped at her.  
“When?”  
“This afternoon. I was painting a clocktower and-.”  
“Did he ask you to come back to Boralus with him?” Her turn to gape.  
“How did you know? How could you possibly know he would ask me that?”  
“I’ve…come to know Flynn’s type.” Her brother turned and continued his path up to his quarters. Ever since her mother had joined the family many years ago, the Royal Keep had gone from an austere military barrack to an actual home. Olivia had painted the walls with murals, mostly of the sea and what lived under the waves. Plants of all varieties bedecked the halls, and vases filled with flowers kept the hallways fresh and lively.  
“Are you going to tell me to stay?” Anduin chuckled. He reached up, tugging at the twine that held his hair up, and let it fall free. Olivia felt a pang; she remembered their father doing the same thing every night.  
“I can’t tell you do anything. Light, you barely listened to father. How can I know you’d listen to me?” He smiled, however, looking at her fondly.  
“You’re my only sister. I’d love for you to stay but it isn’t like Boralus is far away. I want what you want.” She bit her lip as he turned into his quarters.

His quarters were brand new. Taking his fathers old quarters seemed callous, especially since Kayleigh still slept in the same bed. Anduin’s old quarters were tiny, and unfit for a King, so an architect stepped up and offered to design and renovate new quarters for a tiny fee. Located north of the rest of the living areas, it was a spacious, tiered room, with a balcony overlooking the mountains and its own private bath. Anduin found it ostentatious, but Olivia and her brother Torstan were jealous. Marcus laid on a plush couch, reading a book, one leg dangling lazily. He looked at them as they arrived, but didn’t sit up.

“You don’t know what you want, do you.”  
“I think you can read my mind.”  
“It’s something most priests can do, Olivia.” She grunted, moving Marcus out of the way and flopping down on the couch.  
“So wait, you’ve been reading my mind?”  
“Anduin’s been reading minds again? What a shock. Honestly. Such a shock.” Marcus’s voice dripped sarcasm as he turned a page. Anduin chuckled again, grabbing the book from his bond and looking at its cover.  
“How to Fool a Priest.” He gave Marcus a pointed look, who grinned, his blonde eyebrows disappearing into equally blonde hair.  
“What do you want from me? I have to spend every waking second with you. Sometimes I want to keep whats in my head, in my head!”  
“I was not reading your mind, Olivia. I just know how to read you.” He pushed Marcus -off- the couch, sitting next to his sister and removing his boots. Marcus snarled in annoyance, and climbed onto a matching plush armchair. He stared at them, eyes narrowed.  
“Whatever, brother.”  
“Don’t whatever me. It’s not like I want you to leave. If you don’t want to leave, don’t.”  
“You’re leaving?” Marcus looked at Olivia in shock. She stuck out her tongue.  
“Not very Princess like of you.” He wagged his finger at her. She crossed her arms and scowled.  
“Flynn proposed.” Marcus’s jaw dropped.  
“He asked her to move to Boralus with him.”  
“Well, it’s more like he asked me to live with him, and then I asked him if he was proposing, and he said he was.” She shrugged, looking at the coffee table, which held an assortment of candies, books, and loose-leaf parchment with scribbles in odd languages no one but Anduin could decipher. When she looked back at Marcus, he was still gazing at her open mouthed. Anduin stood up, and crossed to the window, leaving the two of them semi-alone.  
“I think I’m going to go.” It was a sudden decision. A moment before, she was torn, but now she felt determined. She would go with Flynn. It was decided.  
“Why? Stormwind is your home.” Marcus said. He didn’t appear to be begging her to stay, or even trying to convince her. He just seemed curious.  
“Moving to Boralus won’t change that.” He nodded and shrugged, before looking at Anduin, who was looking out the window, eyes unfocused.  
“Anduin?”  
“What?” He started, looking from his bond to his sister. Olivia frowned.  
“I’m making a huge decision here and you zone out? Come on.” She stood up and crossed to the window. It didn’t show Stormwind; instead it showed the mountains that separated Stormwind from Merder. The smoky top of Blackrock Mountain peeked over the lip of range, belching ash.   
“I’m sorry, sister.”  
“Don’t be. I’ll be a portal away, if you need me.” He smiled faintly.   
“If all the mages don’t defect. Oh it’s a mess.” He leaned against the window, cheek pressed to the glass in a very undiginifed position. Olivia mirrored it.

She was thirteen years younger then Anduin. It was a significant age gap, but he’d never treated her like an outsider. He was her big brother, a solid rock in a tumultuous sea, that now appeared to be crumbling.  
“I don’t have to leave, you know.” He shook his head, his blonde hair getting into his eyes. He made no effort to remove it.  
“No. You need to live your life for you. I’m fine here.”  
“You’re very not fine.”   
“I have Marcus.”  
“Fat good I’ve done you, Anduin.”  
“Shut up.” He squeezed his eyes shut, before opening them, rolling them with a sigh.  
“It’s useless brooding when theres work to be done. Father never-.” He quieted when he realized what he’d been saying.  
“Thanks. I hate when you compare yourself to him.” She reached out and squeezed his shoulder. He in turn, pulled her into an embrace.  
“I’ll miss you, Olivia”  
“I’m not leaving forever, Anduin. I’ll see you all. I can’t leave mother.” She laughed, pulling away.  
“You’ll find me in the war room, when I come back. You know I can’t stay away.” He grinned.  
“You are more like father than I am.” She stuck up her chin, proud.  
“I try to be. Proud to be, really.” She felt arms embrace her from behind, and grinned as Marcus hugged her.  
“You’re still a little sister to me, even if we’re two different races.” She laughed, and pulled his arms off her as she turned and shoved him away.  
“You are all acting insufferable. I’m going to tell Flynn I’ve made up my mind. I’ll see you before I leave.” She waited for a reply, which didn’t come. Anduin gazed at her sadly, and Marcus stood, a soft smirk playing on his lips. She strode out of the room and bounded down the steps, running through the corridors, knowing where’d she find Flynn.

She just didn’t expect to see him with someone.


	4. Approaching Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia learns some startling information about the status of the Alliance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Formatting gets fucked up. I'm sorry but I'm not going to spend decades reformatting it in a browser without a tab indent.

Olivia stepped into the shadows, her breath catching in her throat. Flynn stood in the gathering moonlight, speaking to a feminine shadow.  
“You know, it will get out. This relationship. It’s not healthy.”  
“Oh? You’re one to talk, Flynn. A man in his mid-thirties courting a girl barely out of her teens?” The voice was rich, warm, and foreign. She recognized it as Tess Greymanes, Gilneas’ free-spirited Princess.  
“Olivia is not my student. That’s the difference.” His voice had lost its usual charm. What were they talking about? She continued to cling to the shadows, watching from her own pocket in the stone.  
“How did you even find out about us?” Tess’s voice was strained, angry.  
“I may be an idiot, but I’m nothing if not observant. The way you act around each other is a big tell, and trust me, I know what it’s like working with my lover.”  
“We’ve been seeing eachother for over a year, Fairwind. If anything bad was to happen, it would have happened. Keep your nose out of it, or I’ll cut it off.” Flynn chuckled.  
“Ah Princess. Ever a pleasure. Do give him my regards. Next time you see him, that is.”  
The cluster of shadows disappeared, and Flynn visibly relaxed. Olivia waited a moment, before slipping out of her stone hideaway. Stepping lightly, she approached him, clearing her throat. Flynn jumped, letting out a short yelp. He put on a hasty smile.  
“Olivia? What are you doing here?”  
“Well, I wanted to tell you I made up my mind. But now I have questions.” His face fell.  
“Oh. You witnessed that, did you?”  
“Tail end of it, yeah.” He sighed, running fingers through his hair. She noticed he’d let his hair down; first time she’d seen it.  
“Probably looked bad.”  
“At first. Until I heard what you were saying.”  
“Listen. I was just giving a friend some advice. It’s nothing that matters.” He put on a hasty smile.  
“I’m not an idiot, Flynn. She’s seeing Shaw, isn’t she?” The smile slipped. Hips lips formed a line, replying,   
“My lips are sealed.” Olivia shook her head and sighed, taking his hand.  
“You know, I had my doubts myself, seeing you. You are nearly fifteen years older.” He made to speak, but she shushed him, carrying him on.  
“I may act like a sheltered, spoiled princess but I can handle myself. I could make it on my own, never marry, lead the armies beside my brother…but I don’t want that for myself.” She looked up at him.   
“I’m going with you to Boralus.” His eyes, which she likened to the color of a calm, wave less sea, widened in surprise.  
“I was sure you were-.”  
“Going to say no?”  
“Well…yeah.” He grinned, pulling her into his arms. She reached up, pulling him into a kiss. She felt his surprise, then an earnest hunger as he pressed deeper into the kiss, warm hands cradling her face. She grinned as she broke off the kiss, feeling her cheeks burn. 

“I better get back. Have packing to do.” She meant to back away from his embrace, but he stopped her, hand clasped around her upper arm.  
“Leaving so soon? I was just starting to enjoy myself.” He grinned at her pout, which turned to a smirk.   
“Better get used to it. You won’t be rid of me once I move.” He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.   
“Ah Princess. I look forward to it.” He let her go, shooing her away.  
“Go. Pack. I have some loose ends to tie up here.” She raised a brow, but didn’t question him, instead squeezing his hand before dashing off.

Sure, she had to pack. Flynn wasn’t the only one with loose ends. Instead of turning towards the living quarters of the Keep, she took a left, pushing aside a family tapestry to reveal a dark corridor. A corridor that led into the SI:7 headquarters. Footfalls silent, she made her way to the end, pushing aside a bookcase, fighting against the need to cough. The dust was intense. She wiped her hands on her skirts, making her way up the staircase, only for a man to appear out of nowhere at the landing. She bristled, teeth bared, hidden daggers drawn, until she realized who it was.

“Princess, did you honestly think you could sneak up on me?” She sheathed her daggers, giving the man a pointed look.  
“I wasn’t attempting too, Master Shaw.”  
“Since when have you called me that?” He leaned against the banister, moving aside to let her pass. SI:7 was shockingly empty. Normally it was bustling with activity; or at least, looked lived in. The only sign someone lived here was the remains of dinner upon the table. A single lit candle, accompanied by a large bottle of liquor, which she held, reading the lable.  
“Since I heard a rumor that intrigued me.” She turned around, bottle still clasped in hand, smiling. He furrowed his brow, not moving from his place by the staircase.  
“You bothered me…for that?”  
“Yes. I know you’re not fond of vistors, but I figured you’d make an exception for my case. I know you’re so fond of princesses.” She eyed him, drawing a chair from the table. His face was stone. He turned away.  
“Ah well. I’m not in the mood for visitors. Not even a Princess.”   
“Are you seeing Princess Greymane?” She expected something from him. A twitch, some sort of tell. Nothing. He laughed, turning back towards her. His face was still a blank slate. A man who had destabilized regimes and buckled empires, he would have to be better than her bait.  
“Whatever gave you that idea?”  
“Fleeting thought.”   
“Always been a creative one. Reminds me I need you to come paint the HQ. It’s chipping.” He crossed to the table, pulling the bottle from her hands.  
“Don’t touch my whiskey.”  
“I don’t paint houses, Mathias.” She scowled, picking absently at a paint chip on the table. He uncorked the bottle, raising it to his lips.  
“Where is everyone?” She asked, curiosity getting the better of her.   
“Gone.”  
“Gone?”  
“Gone.”  
“Where?” A heavy feeling started to weigh down her gut.   
“Use your head, Princess. Stormwind is emptying out. Gilneans, Planore, Night Elves. They are all leaving in droves. Along with my operatives.” He gestured around them.   
“The Rebellion has my agents.” She narrowed her eyes, pensive.  
“Why didn’t you join them?” Olivia knew that Shaw disagreed with her brother, thought he followed him faithfully. It wouldn’t surprise her if he’d vanished. She was, truth be told, surprised he hadn’t.  
“Does loyalty mean nothing to you? I’ve served your family, faithfully, for over almost thirty years.” She cocked her head.  
“Loyalty to a cause one doesn’t believe in means nothing.” He eyed her, before slamming the bottle on the table. The candle flickered.   
“I care about your family. The Wrynns have sacrificed much for Stormwind, and I’d die for her.” He turned away, disdainful. “I may disagree with your brother, but I’d still die for him.” She grimaced. Heavy drinking amid depression reminded her of her father, during the nights he drank himself to sleep. She’d heard enough.  
“Do what you will, Mathias.” She rose from the table, lifting her skirts as she made to descend the stairs. Shaw stopped her, taking her by the shoulder. She turned, pushing his hand away with a scowl. He gave her a lazy grin  
“Don’t let Flynn bully you into doing anything you don’t want to do, Olivia.”  
“Like what? I’ll have you know, he’s been a perfect gentlemen.” He raised a brow, but nodded in reply. She turned away. On the way back, she agonized about the Alliance’s future, and thought about telling Flynn she’d changed her mind. Would staying really help? Should she really stop her own happiness for something that may not even matter? She bit her lip as she entered the Keep, her thoughts dark.


	5. Retribution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zeke remembers the events that lead him down the path of rebellion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're going to notice that my lore doesn't precisely follow the games events. Why? Because that is boring as hell.

Zeke was going to miss the girls.  
He laid flat on a rock, way in the back of a dank, rotten cave. It smelled strongly of mold, fungus, and decay, and was a huge reminder that, until very recently, he’d slept on cushy mattresses with hundreds of pillows, surrounded by women. He didn’t even have to pay for them. They just flocked to him. 

He rubbed his eyes, his back aching. Every muscle in his body seemed to scream in derision and rage at his circumstances, but they couldn’t be helped. This is what a rebellion was like. You couldn’t tote around a mattress and seven different pillows. You made do with rocks. He rolled over, attempting to sleep, but images of the little girl, her body skewered on Tyrande’s arrows, kept accosting him.

It was a sickening sight. One that reminded him why he continued this campaign. How many Night Elven children received that same treatment? He witnessed firsthand the barbarism of the Horde in Brennadam. He wasn’t about to let it happen again.

Still…there were limits to what they could do. Zeke only targeted military camps. Civilian populations were off-limits. While Genn whole heartedly agreed with this statement, Tyrande took issue.

“How many civilians died the numerous times the Horde struck down our people? How many of my people suffered as they put the Torch to Teldrassil. It’s time they felt the same.”  
“We can’t stoop to their level, Tyrande.”  
“It’s thinking like that that got us here in the first place, young Mage.” Her mouth a fine line, she twirled a finely feathered arrow in her fingers, her black eyes, reflecting the stars, turned towards the cavern wall.  
“King Anduin is soft. Useless. The Kaldorei were once conquerors. Feared throughout the lands. It’s time we revisited that sentiment.”  
“The Kaldorei also almost brought ruin to the entire planet. Which I’m sure you recall.” Genn remarked. Tyrande turned to him with an icy glare.  
“No. No villages. No Towns. No cities. There are plenty of mongrels that can be put down without adding innocents to the list.”  
“My, where did your bite go, old man?” The words, though disguise as a tease, held untold malice. Genn didn’t take the bait.  
“My bite is directed towards those that deserve it, Tyrande. As should yours.”

Aggravated, Zeke traced patterns into the cave wall. A little flame charred the surface, leaving light, dusty marks that would fade with time. He found himself remembering Diathla. Her smooth curves, the way the sun played off her hair. That trick she played with her mouth. She was the best of that gaggle of girls. He smirked, clenched his fist, and sat up. The rebellion had moved out of Ashenvale, picking off Horde scouts, demanding locations of various bases, and of course, scouting by himself. They were always demanding his eyes and ears. It wasn’t like Tyrande had an owl that could pass through objects on a whim. No, Zeke the Firebird had to fly over mountains in the biting cold, gazing down at stony pass after stony pass for tiny green orcs. 

Despicable. He was worth more than that. Striding past sleeping sentinels and dozing footmen, he exited the cavern mouth. Leaves and vines brushed his cheeks as he slipped through them, entering the humid air. Stone Talon was mostly uninhabited, but the Horde had been pushing precariously too far into Night Elven territory for years, and the recent conflict had emboldened them. Many of the commanders that helped set Teldrassil ablaze were stationed here, or so said the ex-SI:7 agents. Zeke was glad for their help; their subterfuge and talent for deception was needed, not only for their enemies but for their once allies as well.  
“It’s almost time to strike.” He heard the voice from above. Cool, quiet, deadly. Tyrande leapt down. She was shorter then him by only a few inches; her teal hair held loose behind her. Normally, Zeke may have found her attractive, but as she was several thousand years older, it was akin to flirting with a grandmother. Not really his style. Besides, her stunt at the war camp left his image of her darkened.  
“Strike what, High Priestess? The camps around us lay abandoned. We moved into Stonetalon for a breather.” She turned her eyes onto him, her expression almost pitying.  
“The Horde has always coveted our forests. Time and time again, they have asked me to allow them lumber here. There are…camps among the edges that must be taken out.”  
“Those are nothing but Lumberjacks and civilians.”  
“Teldrassil was nothing but civilians as well.” Zeke felt himself grow hot, a steady rise of steam that rose through his body. His anger always manifested itself into literal flame.  
“I will not allow another genocide, Tyrande. We started this rebellion to punish the Horde and those that lit the torch. Not innocent orcs who only want to feed their families.  
“If you will not help, there are plenty that will.” A smirk, and she turned away. Zeke snarled after her, blinking in front of her.  
“No.”  
“No?”  
“No. If you strike against the camps, you will find them empty of people. Mark my words.”  
“You would aid them? Betray the rebellion?”  
“If this is what the rebellion has come too, then I find myself no longer a part of it.” Their voices, once soft, had risen to shouts. Zeke’s anger had risen to a boiling point, tongues of flame erupting on his hands and arms. Others began to watch. Through the gloom of the cave, Genn’s voice was heard,   
“There will be no more slaughter of innocents. Not while I still breathe.” He entered the room, ducking under a stalactite.   
“You too? I suppose I have allied myself with sentimental fools.” Tyrande spat. She turned and walked away, out of the mouth of the cave. Zeke, still furious, managed his anger. The tongues died out, whisking away into nothingness, and the cave once again grew dark.  
“She will strike. There are a lot of Night Elves that agree with her. I need to move.” Zeke made to transform, but Genn stopped him, a hand on his shoulder.  
“Wait. Division among us will destroy our movement. Let me speak with her.” Zeke snorted, but let him pass, watching as the aged man, close cut silver hair a moon in the darkness, exit the cave. He had a point, but Zeke already knew that the rebellion was nothing more than a few angry voices all clamoring for justice, with too many definitions for what that word meant. He retreated into the back once more, sitting down on his rock-for-a-mattress, deep in thought. It had been a long time coming, his decision to jump start this rebellion. It wasn’t until now he’d developed second thoughts; a gnawing at the back of his skull that didn’t seem to go away. Was that his discontent at Tyrande’s bloodthirst, or was he losing his spark?

\- One Year Ago -

‘We’ve received information that Baine Bloodhoof is going to be executed.” Zeke’s first reaction was a firm ‘Good.’ However, he knew that most of the others in his company, especially Jaina, would decide to free him. A complicated heist in Orgrimmar would serve him good. More Orcs to fry. More goblins to sinder. 

He stood in Stormwind Keep, surrounding the throne in a semi-circle, as King Anduin relayed the news. Zeke had been intentionally left in the dark. While this annoyed him, he kept his anger to a minimum, watching the faces of those gathered with interest. Jaina was upset; the lines of her face held tight in fear and urgency. Anduin, as always, looked depressed. His eyes were deep pits, surrounded by half-moon shadows. Marcus, his bond, stood with his hands held clasped behind him back. His eyes took in all present. Master Mathias Shaw was the only one who seemed to hold his feelings on the matter. His features screwed up in distaste, he seemed to have accepted that they would indeed be freeing Baine Bloodhoof from the gut of Ogrimmar.

“We have to free him. I am indebted to him. If he had not freed Derek…” Jaina closed her eyes, pained. Zeke resisted the urge to roll his.   
“I agree.” Anduin looked up from the war table, looking at them each in turn. His gaze lingered on Zeke.  
“It’ll be risky.” Shaw warned. He unraveled a map of Orgrimmar, laying it on the table. Zeke approached the table, interested.  
“Are these maps current?” Anduin asked, running a finger along the complicated lines and arrows.  
“This shows the underbelly, where Baine is most likely to be held. It hasn’t changed much since our first Siege, but Sylvanas seems to have bolstered the prison Garrosh built.” Shaw explained, hands flat on the table. Jaina lifted the map, revealing another beneath it.  
“I see. This shows the prison complex?”  
“Yes. A few years out of date. Hard to get operatives that deep.” She let out a sigh, taking the map and rolling it up.  
“It’ll have to do. There are bound to be dampening spells to prohibit portaling in, we’ll have to make use of Magister Umbrics void magics.” She looked up at Zeke.   
“You’ve been awfully quiet, Zeke. It’s unlike you.”  
“Not feeling very talkative. We should get a move on. I’ll alert Umbric.” He tapped his staff thrice on the marble stones and vanished. Jaina looked to Shaw, whose face was set in a grim line, to Anduin, who had a glimmer of hope in his shadowed eyes.  
“Light be with you all.”

Zeke materialized back in Boralus a moment later, feeling winded. The portal room was filled with a gaggle of mages, running back and forth, collecting documents and writing down data. They all turned when he arrived, a blast of heat announcing him. An aged woman pressed her glasses up her nose, squinting at him.  
“Must you teleport that way? You’ll set our documents aflame.”  
“It’s heat, nothing more, Chief Historian. Your documents are safe.” They turned back to their work as he walked out of the room, the sea spray of Boralus kissing his face, the wind ruffling his hair. The city had taken some getting used too. He was used to Dalaran, which was always several thousand feet above the ground. Weather was rare. Here, it was common. Rain was constantly drumming on the wooden decks of ships and docks. Salt seemed to encrust everything, including your clothes, and there was an ever-present fishy smell, no matter where you went.   
His boots clanked on the wooden deck of the Winds Redemption. Lord Halford Wyrmbane, devoid of his armor and wearing standard Alliance livery, emerged from below deck.  
“Ah. Archmage Firebrand. I just received a message detailing your next…excursion.”  
“Did said message include my need for the Magister?” Wyrmbane nodded, his greying hair darker in the humid air.  
“He’s preparing below. Seems excited.” His gaze lingered on Zeke as he ducked into the doorway, descending the stairs. Hammocks hung on the walls, and foodstuffs, most of them open, lay scattered. The ship didn’t see much action; she was more of a headquarters for the war effort. Magister Umbric had cloistered himself in his quarters, writing furiously on a piece of long, trailing parchment. Zeke cleared his throat.  
“Ready to depart?”  
“Yes.” As always, the Void Elf’s voice had a slight echo. It had disturbed Zeke at first, but he had come to see the man as a close friend. He appreciated the elves greatly, and their need to prove themselves in the eyes of the Alliance led them to perform admirably.  
Umbric turned.   
“Let us depart.” He grinned. Zeke mirrored the gesture, letting him lead the way above deck. Umbric raised his hands to the sky, Zeke tapped his staff, and they both disappeared, Umbric in a split of purple vapor.

Minutes later, they gathered in the Keeps courtyard. Flowers scented the air, and vines crisscrossed above their heads. Lady Kayleigh watched them, making sure none of them stepped on her precious blooms.   
“This is a heist. We get in, secure Baine, and get out.” Master Shaw looked to Umbric, who nodded.  
“Have you locked onto our destination, Magister?”  
“I have. One moment, while I open you a portal.” Void magic worked differently arcane magic. It required one to bargain. Zeke’s conversations with Umbric had told him that the Void always wanted something. It was similar to fel, but much less destructive. The Void meant to infect, rather than destroy. Convincing it that it was gaining the upper hand was all part of the game. Umbric raised his hands, splayed them to the sky, before ripping a portal out of thin air. A massive purple tear in space formed, the edges twisting and undulating. He nodded to team, and the three of them entered the portal, vanishing into violet mist.

The Orgrimmar Underbelly smelled of stale smoke. Zeke blinked, trying to rid his eyes of the writhing tentacles of void travel. He looked to his right. Jaina seemed to be doing the same, her eyes squeezed tight, but Shaw didn’t seem phased. They had teleported directly on what looked to be a picnic. Pink blanket, umbrella fixed to the ground. He raised an eyebrow, glancing around at their surroundings.  
“I remember this room. The twisted monstrosity Malkorak held his ground here.” Jaina mused. They froze, hearing voices. Two goblins entered the room, giggling amongst themselves and holding hands. Zeke let out a dark chuckle, raising his hands, but Jaina thrust hers out. The goblins froze, encased in ice.  
“We don’t kill anymore then necessary.” She glared at Zeke. Hands still smoldering, he shook his head.   
“They’re goblins.”  
“Doesn’t matter. Lets go.” She led the way, down several flights of stairs, through corridors, finally breaching into a cavernous room. Forges lined the walls, and several mechs, deactivated and slumping, peppered the room.   
“We should take out these mechs.” Master Shaw’s harsh whisper pierced the shadows where he crept. Zeke nodded, raising his hands, but Jaina smacked them down.   
“No! We’re here for Baine.”  
“We need to take this chance, Jaina. Any chance we can get to cripple their stockpile sets them farther behind.” Shaw urged, stepping out of the gloom. Jaina knitted her brows, but nodded. Zeke didn’t have to think twice. He pounced, blasting two hapless goblins with fire as he turned the nearest mech to slag. Shaw was much quieter. A dagger to the back, a key component torn out of the mech and tossed in the forge. As the goblins attempted to raise the alarm, Jaina froze them. Encased in ice, eyes wide and fearful, they were shattered. Frozen body parts littered the ground, thawing out quickly as Zeke raised the heat. The room was stained red by the time they were done. Molten metal lay in iridescent pools as oil gushed from ruptured tanks.  
“You make my shatter so messy, Zeke.” Jaina sniffed, lifting her robes over the gory mess. Zeke stepped through; his boots already destroyed. Shaw, somehow, was already ahead. He gestured them forward.  
“The prison is this way.”   
“Fire and Ice has always been a tricky partnership. Funny how we’ve gravitated towards each other over the years.” He whispered. Jaina managed a small smile.  
“I took you in Khadgar cast you out.”  
“Cast out is a bit strong of a word. He didn’t even know I existed back then.” They fell silent as the shadows overcame them. Shaw was leading them down a rarely used side corridor. Due to the strong stench of refuse, Zeke assumed it was meant for garbage disposal.  
“Must you rogues always take the most disgusting route?” He wrinkled his nose. Shaw didn’t reply, just kept walking forwards, setting traps and checking maps. They finally emerged. Baine, held by his wrists and ankles, stood spread eagle. Massive ball and chains weighted him down, and the chains holding his wrists were secured to metal posts. The room itself was just as cavernous as the last. Cells lined the walls, with scaffolding leading higher and higher. Despite the amount of cells, Baine seemed to be the only prisoner. He looked up as they approached.   
“Jaina?” Jaina hushed him.   
“The Alliance? What are they doing here?” Zeke turned, hair on the back of his neck bristling. Two orcs emerged from another corridor. Tall and imposing, with emerald green skin, the two of them stopped dead, looking at all three Alliance members. Zeke recognized them.

“Thrall? Saurfang? What are…of course.” Jaina nodded, and continued, “We’re here to save Baine.”  
“As are we.” Thralls deep, throaty voice echoed throughout the chamber. Baine pulled at his restraints.  
“We better act fast. The Banshee Queen has eyes everywhere.”  
“I’m not working with orcs.” Zeke spat. Shaw rolled his eyes, jogging up to Baines chains and crouching.  
“You don’t have a choice.”   
“They could betray us.”  
“I doubt that.” Jaina warned him with a look.  
“Saurfang has been vocal about his distaste for the Warchief.”  
“He still put the torch to Teldrassil.” For a moment, he thought he had gotten through to her. Her eyes narrowed, before she shook her head.  
“We can’t think about that now. One thing at a time.” He growled, noncommittal, and turned, watching the main door. He noticed a flicker of incandescence, the tell-tale time of a portal spell honing in on a location. He made to speak to Jaina, but she was busy with Baine’s chains. He heard a growl behind him and turned. Thrall stared up at the flickering light zigzagging through the room.

“They’ll be here any moment.” Zeke had to agree.  
“Spymaster? How soon until those chains are unlocked?”  
“Well, seeing as their magically warded, not soon. I’ll need some help.”   
“You won’t be getting it. Work as best you can.” Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Shaw’s scowl.  
“We’ve got incoming.”  
“What? This place is warded!” Jaina had turned, staring upwards in alarm.  
“Not against those with the key.” Saurfang grumbled.  
“Horde magi have crystals that act as keys against our wards.” Thrall gave him a look of surprise, to which the elder orc shrugged.  
“I don’t pretend to understand it.” He turned to Zeke, who bristled. He didn’t like orcs.  
“Can you stop it?”  
“No. Perhaps if I had time. But I don’t.” The orc looked to Jaina, who shook her head.  
“Zeke is correct.”  
“Then I guess we fight.” Saurfang raised his axe, his jaw set. Thrall mirrored him; expression drawn. A wicked grin stretched across Zeke’s face, and he raised his hands. Finally. Some action!

A portal ripped across the space directly across from them. Blood Elves poured out, sporting fiery rogues and thunderous expressions.   
“A Jaina Proudmoore! Or is it “Lord Admiral.” The last elf to step through the portal seemed different. While the rest were angry and out for blood, this one positivity dripped venom. His words were laced with it, injecting poison into every syllable. He had history with Jaina.  
“Disgusting.”  
“We’re here to free Baine! We want no-.” Jaina started, but the elf laughed over her words.  
“NO QURREL? Too bad. I was there when you murdered my kin. I’ve never forgotten it, and now you will be the last one standing while each of your...” He looked around, his gaze lingering on Saurfang and Thrall. “friends are slaughtered one by one.”  
“Please, Hathorel. Baine has no right to die.” Thrall attempted, stepping forward.  
“Traitors deserve to die.” He sniffed in Saurfangs direction, who gripped his axe tighter, snarling.  
“Traitors? It is YOU who betray the Horde!”  
“How rich! You were all for the attack on Darkshore! “For the Glory of the Horde!” was that how you put it? Now you change your mind?” Hathorel licked his lips, raising his hands.  
“Too little. Too late. The Warchief sends her regards…”

Zeke sprang into action. As the Magister let loose his first fireball, Zeke parried it, sending it flying into the far reaches of the room. The blood elf blinked.  
“Zeke Firebrand? Ah! I’ve been wanting to meet you in person! Oh, I must thank you for that lovely brand on Blightcallers face.” Zeke grinned.  
“Would you like one yourself? I feel it would improve your overall look.”  
“Try it, pack animal.”  
The vulgar term for Planore had grown common throughout the Hordes ranks. Zeke used to take offense, but now the words fanned his flames. His anger was a pilot light, driving flames ever higher. He sprang into action. The Magister blinked away. Around the room, the other elves raised blood red crystals into the air. Zeke let his anger focus him. The room dropped away, the shouting, the orcish war cries. 

He knew, before Hathorel let loose the first bolt, that Baine and Shaw were targets. He spun on his heel, flinging his arms outward, sending a whorl of energy over and around the two. Shaw ducked, Baine winced, but the fireball hit the shield and deflected off.  
“Clever, very clever!” A voice could be heard.  
“But all shields can be broken, little mule.”  
“The garnets hold the power to the shielding that surrounds them!” Jaina could be heard. Zeke barely paid attention. He knew, instinctively, what to do. Charging forward, he slammed the butt of his staff into an elves face, smashing his nose. Blood poured forth.  
“Your little shielding doesn’t protect you from physical attacks, does it?” He snarled.   
“Let me show you how a real arcanogeolgist does it. This may sting a little…” He slammed his palm into the elves forehead. Immediately, a red brand formed, singing his skin. The mage stumbled back, gripping his skull, as he burned from the inside out. Skin melted off bone, and he erupted, spraying red hot gore across the area. His fellows stumbled back, interrupting their casting, and Zeke took his chance. He smashed the crystal with a well timed ball of flame, before sweeping both of them off their feet with another wall of heat.  
“Oh, come on! You’re Blood Elves! Famous for your Pyromancers! You won’t let a mere Planore show you up!” Hathorel screamed in cold fury at the deaths of his fellows. Zeke turned, noticed a ball of flame roaring towards him, and deflected just in time.  
“Better try harder!” He let loose a maniacal laugh, before surging forward. He forgot his Planore form. He forgot everything. He was righteous, hot anger. THIS was for Teldrassil. He slammed his staff into the gut of another elf. THIS was for Darkshore. He clawed his fingers and slashed. Smoking entrails spilled out of the belly of another. THIS was Brennadam, and Hillsbrad, and Theremore, and-.

Ice encased him. He felt his anger evaporate. Voices could be heard outside his shell.  
“Your bond. He’s a psychopath. Look what’s he’s done.” The low tones of an orc. Saurfang.  
“I will deal with Zeke! We need to get Baine down.” He heard the sound of clinking chains, the heavy steps of a Tauren, and the low notes of Master Shaw, the only voice he couldn’t make out. He felt himself thaw, and he fell to the ground, shivering.  
“You’ve a lot to explain, Firebrand.” Jaina shoved her staff into his shoulder. He knocked it away, coughing.  
“Never. Freeze me. Again.”  
“What you did to those elves was beyond killing. Beyond murder.”  
“They would have-.”  
“Enough. I don’t have time to deal with you.” She walked away, summoning a portal. He felt a nudge at his side, an arm lift him up.   
“Figured you’d be out of here by now.” Zeke grumbled, looking down at the Spymaster. Zeke was a very tall, powerfully built man. For a mage, he was very out of place. Despite this, he always felt…small next to Shaw, who was diminutive next to him. The man had a presence. Zeke listened when he spoke. It was strange.

“Not going to leave you behind.” He gave him a smirk.  
“Got the job done quicker then I imagined.”  
“Not horrified?” Zeke was genuinely shocked.  
“I don’t much care how one does things. As long as it works.” He stepped forward, stopped when he noticed Zeke wasn’t following.  
“Let’s go Firebrand. Before I change my mind and have her close the portal prematurely.” Zeke growled and strode forward.

Compared to the dim prison, Thunder Bluff, even in the late afternoon, was blazing. Zeke shielded his eyes as he stepped onto dry, packed earth. Surrounding them in every direction were endless plains of verdant grass. They were hundreds of feet up, on a bluff surrounding the city proper. Wooden steps, still well maintained despite their age, spiraled down from the bluff. He turned his gaze to Baine, who was still having trouble supporting his weight. Shaw and Saurfang helped support him they watched Thrall and Jaina converse. Zeke stepped closer. 

“-only if we work together, united, can we overcome it.”  
“What?” he snapped. He couldn’t have possibly heard Jaina say that. After all the Horde had done to her! Her head snapped around, eyes narrowed.  
“I don’t want to hear-.”  
“You are not my mother to boss me around, Jaina. Did I seriously hear you speak about working with the Horde? After everything they have done? Haven’t you learned that only ends in disaster for the Alliance?”  
“Zeke we-.”  
“United against Deathwing, they stab us in the back at Theremore. United against the Legion. They instigate a war and commit genocide against a major race of the Alliance. What next? Will they have to bomb Stormwind? Will that get you to understand that their will never be peace?!” Jaina seemed at a loss for words. Her eyes had gone wide. Thrall growled at Zeke, stepping forward, but Zeke was ready. He held out a hand.  
“As for you. You have a direct hand in the events that have shaped her and I. Without your clumsy leadership, Sylvanas wouldn’t have the plague. Without your guileless promotion of Garrosh, Theremore would still stand. You have no right to hold any position on the topic. Go back to Outland. Continue to run away from the problems you created.” Zeke spat in disgust.  
“We’ll continue to mop them up.”  
Silence. Only the wind could be heard, blowing through their hair and the grasses at their feet. Zeke began summoning a portal. Boralus’s glistening spires erupted from the sky in a zigzagging line, dragging downward. He glanced over his shoulder.  
“Master Shaw?” The man, who had been standing, eyebrows raised in surprise, strode forward, disappearing through the portal. Zeke followed, making sure to slam the portal shut as he arrived on the opposite side.

He shook himself. He was still the same man. Blood thirsty, driven for vengeance, determined there could be no working with the Horde. However, Tyrande’s methods vied for dominance for Sylvanas’, and it left a bad taste in his mouth. There must be a way to reach her. Bring back the hopeful priestess she once was. Was she that far gone? Zeke tapped his staff on the ground, became a phoenix, and flew away. There must be an answer. He’d find it among the trees.


	6. Disillusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spymaster Shaw comes to terms with some buried emotions.

It was raining again. Nothing new, for Stormwind. No, it was mostly the fact that this time, the rain seemed to permeate every pore, seeping down to the marrow. It was a very hard rain. It didn’t lighten the mood.

Nothing seemed to lighten his mood these days. Mathias Shaw was never the happiest of people, but his agent’s abandonment of their posts, coupled with a very personal matter that he was trying his best to ignore, kept his spirits low. Soaked to the bone, he made his way to the keep, answering a summons King Anduin had sent him. They had offered him a Planore escort for speed, but Shaw had never liked relying on another pair of legs. His own were just fine. Guards gave him crisp salutes as he passed, which he ignored, finally making it to the shelter of the keep. 

It used to be quite plain. The entrance a white marble, with intricate inlaid lapis stones forming a circular mosaic. While still present, it had been worn down by many hooves, and the walls were covered with paintings and in certain areas, well cultivated vines. Kayleigh and Olivia Wrynn had made their mark, and it was here to stay. He smiled somewhat as he passed a very non-descript painting, which he knew was Olivia’s mark of the Uncrowned. A shadowy hall, with unidentifiable figures sharing a toast at a long wooden table. The Princess was not a member, but she was an agent all the same. Those were…different times. Better times. At least the Alliance existed, back then.  
“Ah. Master Shaw.” A feminine voice reached his ear.  
“You didn’t need to greet me, Lady Kayleigh. I can find my own way.” She gave him a small chuckle.  
“I find myself with precious little to do these days.”  
“Gardening getting boring?” She wrinkled her nose.  
“Light, no. Just between seasons.”

Kayleigh was one of the few that didn’t look down on him for his chosen profession. King Anduin was by all means polite, but his distaste for Shaw’s activities was clear in his tone and his refusal to speak plainly around him. Kayleigh had never been like that. Nor had Varian. It was one of the things he missed about the former administration. SI:7 had a role, they performed it well, they were respected. What now?  
“You’re soaked through.”  
“That I am.”  
“You could have taken the passage.” Ah yes. The not-so-secret passage leading from SI:7 to the keep. How many times had Olivia attempted to sneak in in her youth?  
“It’s for emergencies.” She gave him a wry look.  
“I fancied a walk.”  
“In this weather? Please. I may old, but I’m not dumb.” He let out a rare laugh.  
“I’m nearly a decade older.” This didn’t deter her.  
“So much has happened since Vairan’s death, I feel as though I’ve aged twice as fast.” She turned, sizing him up.  
“I’m sure you know the feeling.” He didn’t. Shaw felt as though he hadn’t aged since he’d hit middle age around a decade ago. Still, he humored her.  
“They’re through the room. Stand by the fire, at the very least, if you won’t accept a towel.” He nodded his thanks before crossing the threshold. The air was thick, tense. He was used to such environments. Viscous worry. King Anduin stood, wearing his usual livery of blue and gold, his hair loose. Queen Tealia pointed something out on a massive map of Kalimdor. Shaw recognized it; it was one SI:7 had mapped out years ago. The new Lord Admiral was there as well. None of this was a surprise. No, the surprise came from the fact a burly Tauren, his hair braided in twin tails and wearing an elaborate feather headdress, was standing at the end of the table, looking thoroughly out of place.  
“Spymaster Shaw! Good to see you join us.” Anduin looked up as he entered the room. The boy had finally gotten some sleep; more than Shaw had.  
“You sent the missive. I answered.” Anduin frowned somewhat, looking uncomfortable. Jaina eyed him, an eyebrow raised. Shaw looked away. Finding a solid wall to lean against, he eyed the room.  
“I didn’t receive word that Baine Bloodhoof would be joining us.” The tauren bowed low.  
“I apologize for the intrusion. I came without word.”  
“Baine brings dire news.” Taelia explained. Shaw crossed his arms. He had a feeling he knew what this was about.  
“A civilian encampment was slaughtered, just north of Feralas in Desolace.” Baine explained. Shaw raised a brow.  
“By whom?”  
“Night Elves. They were turned into pincushions. Silver-fletched arrows. The rebellions banner was planted at the scene.”  
“Were there any other clues as to who this could be? Night Elf aggression has…unfortunately, become common.” Shaw noticed Anduin clench and unclench his fists. So, he knows that this rebellion was in direct response to his policies. At least there was that.  
“Only arrows and glaive wounds, King Anduin. You understand, this puts you in a delicate position with the Horde. I know you would never authorize an attack, but…” He trailed off.  
“The rest may not see this for what it is.” Anduin gazed at the map. It was peppered with dotted lines and tiny figurines.  
“Have there been any other incidents?” Shaw shifted his weight, examining every face, every movement. Anduin tense. Taelia worried. Jaina looked oddly calm. Baine looked the worst. Surrounding them were guards, along with Anduin’s bond, Marcus Luttrell, who stood in the shadows.  
“Yes. One in the mountains surrounding Darkshore. A listening post was attacked as the troops slept. They were supposed to be cleaning up and taking down the post.” Baine shook himself. Jaina spoke up. “Have you found any evidence of magic? Fire magic, perhaps?” Baine eyed her.  
“Yes. Great craters. Tents reduced to ash, Bodies covered in burns. A fire mage is part of their number.” Jaina muttered under her breath, a name that looked oddly like “Zeke.” Baine continued, either not noticing her recognition or choosing to ignore it.  
“Another attack, this time in Stone Talon. A lumber camp. This time some were left alive.” Anduin gritted his teeth. Some anger was ekeing out, squeezing through the cracks in the armor.  
“I like to think Genn wouldn’t attack unarmed civilians. But I don’t know what to think anymore.” The King raised his eyes to Shaw.  
“I need your eyes, Master Shaw.” He glanced from his King, to Jaina, and finally to Baine, before answering.  
“As much as I’d like to give them to you, I only have the two in my head. The rest have joined the rebellion.”  
“What!?” The word echoed throughout the room. Even the guards looked on edge.  
“Happened last night. Came home to see SI:7 empty. Cleaned of all intelligence, files. Personal items.” He shrugged, stifling anger.  
“You didn’t think tell me?”  
“It was late, your Majesty.” Anduin looked incredulous, and the truth is, come a year ago, Shaw would have turned on his heel to alert his superior, but now, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Olivia’s words echoed in his mind. Why stay?

“I can…reach out some feelers and see what bites, but I can’t promise you results.” Anduin took a breath.  
“Do that. We need to put a stop to this before the entirety of the Horde comes marching on Stormwind’s doorstep.”  
“I can assure you; it won’t come to that. The council is…much more unified.”  
“A shame the Alliance isn’t the same.”

They spoke in length about what to do about the rebellion, and Shaw found his mind wandering. What WERE they to do? The bulk of their army was in tatters. Many had deserted. While the rebellion was fragmented and confused, they at least had numbers to pose a significant threat. Did they negotiate? Or resort to methods more to his liking?

Was he even going to go through with orders to assassinate? He couldn’t blame them. They stuck with a cause they believed in. The sound of his name met his ears. Shaken out of his reverie, he looked up to Baine speaking to him.  
“Master Shaw. I do want to thank you for your rescue so long ago. I haven’t been able to give thanks until now.” Shaw blinked, and looked at the Tauren. He inclined his head.  
“All part of the job, Bloodhoof.” The Taurens ears flattened somewhat, but he shook himself.  
“I best get going, before word gets out a Tauren is in the city.”  
“We will fix this. Mark my words.” Anduin shook Baine’s hand, before Jaina portaled him out. Shaw excused himself a moment later, ready to make the trek back to the empty SI:7 headquarters. The rain had lightened somewhat, but he still managed to soak himself through by the time he stepped over the threshold. He shook himself, sending rainwater everywhere, before climbing the steps, lethargic. He’d just managed to grab a towel and dry his face when a voice piped up.

“You’re soaked. Haven’t you heard of an umbrella?” he turned, snarling, at the sound of her voice. It was music to his ears, and he hated that feeling. He’d tried to banish it, to throw it out with the rest of the trash that had abandoned him, but it was as feeble an attempt as the previous. 

Tess Greymane had been a part of his life for years now. Most of that time was spent as her mentor, teaching her the ways of the shadows at her behest. She was an excellent student, quick to grasp things, diligent in her studies. It was only until he’d been freed from captivity three years ago that she’d taken their relationship up a notch. He couldn’t say she seduced him. No. He wanted it. He just hadn’t realized it. It was agonizing. Every moment he spent with her, he felt over the moon. Afterwards, he felt sick for having felt that way. She was a Princess, heir to a dead kingdom, and nearly fifteen years his junior.  
He didn’t deserve her.

“What are you doing here, Tess?” He glared at her. Sitting coyly on his bedsheets, she was dressed in sleek black leathers, hood pulled down to expose porcelain skin and piercing hazel eyes.  
“Wanted to see you. It’s been months.”  
“We’re through.” He turned away. She gaped at him.  
“We’re what?”  
“You heard me.” He stepped into the kitchen, pulling a dry shirt from the back of the chair. He was about to slick his soaked one off but thought better of it. Not with Tess around. Indeed, he felt her hand on the small of his back. He reached around and tore it off him.  
“Don’t…”  
“Don’t what? Touch you?” She sounded offended and took his shoulders. He resisted her touch, and they tussled for a moment, before he gripped her wrists and pulled her to face him. She was hurt. Angry.  
“How dare you say we’re through. Haven’t even given me a chance to explain.”  
“You joined the rebellion.” She shook her head.  
“I’m standing beside my father. Doesn’t mean I joined.” He raised a brow. Her wrists were still gripped in his hands.  
“Oh? What does it mean then?” She rolled her eyes.  
“Use your head, Mathias. I don’t believe in their mission of annihilation. I’m frankly bored with war.”  
“A spy? They’ll see through that.”  
“Doubt it. My daddy thinks the world of me.” She winked, pulling her wrists free from his now slack grip.  
“Does he know?” He asked of her retreating back.  
“Does he know what?” She took of her jacket, exposing her bare shoulders. He felt his mouth go dry.  
“Us.” She looked over her shoulder.  
“No. You better change out of that shirt, before you get sick.” He growled, looking down at the dry one still clutched in his palm. Knowing he’d regret it, he shucked off the sodden garment, making to pull the dry one over his head, but found it whisked from his grasp.  
“Tess…”  
“You should really dry off, first.”  
“Give me my shirt.” She tossed it behind her.  
“We’re not really through, are we? Could you really put everything we’ve accomplished behind you?” She leaned into him, her hands on his bare chest. He felt her raw heat, saw her coy smile. She was a poison. He took her wrists in his hands, backing her against a wall. She hooked a leg around his waist and pulled.  
“I guess not.” She rolled her eyes.  
“Man of few words.”  
“Have I ever been anything else?”  
“You talk a lot in bed with me.” She raised a tentative hand, before cupping his cheek. He pressed into her touched, reveling in it. That back portion of his mind screamed at him, ‘This is wrong! This is wrong!’. 

It felt so right. He leaned in to kiss her, and she met his lips with vigor, her hand moving from his cheek to his hair. His wrapped around her body, pulling her closer.  
“Everyone has truly left?” She asked. It seemed it came to her as she got a good view of the headquarters. He picked her up, carrying her to his mattress.  
“It’s just me and the whiskey.” She wrinkled her nose.  
“I hate when you drink. I always have to make that disgusting concoction for you.” She was referring to the potion that allowed him to…perform after many hours on the drink. He chuckled.  
“If you weren’t so single minded, you could wait for it to wear off.” She shook her head as he laid her out.  
“When I want you, I want you now.” She worked at his belt, pulling it free and tossing it aside. He let her, watching her deft fingers work at the ties of his pants. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. Should have thrown her out. Fact was, there was an apathetic portion of his brain that just wanted to feel something other than anger, disappointment, and abandonment. Just for a little while. He didn’t care enough to do the right thing. Besides, who was he to say what was right or wrong? He watched through lidded eyes as she peeled off his pants. They stuck to him, soaked as they were, and he ended up helping her undress him.  
“Really. An umbrella. Use them.”  
“Have you ever seen me with one of those things?” She sat up, letting him work the ties of her leather tunic.  
“No. But to be fair, we worked in the Broken Shore. Not a lot of rain.”  
“Felfire and Brimstone.” She turned around, giving him a better access to the ties, and he leaned down, kissing her bare shoulder. He felt her tense and relax at his touch.  
“You didn’t mean it at all.” She whispered as he pulled her tunic over her head.  
“No. But I do hate how I feel about you.”  
“You still think it’s wrong, don’t you?” She turned; eyes severe. He didn’t back down.  
“I do. Tess, you’re fifteen years younger and my student.” He pulled her close, his hands running down her body, feeling smooth, bare skin. Devoid of any and all imperfections. Not even a scar.  
“I’m an adult. It’s not as if I’m Princess of Stormwind, marrying a corsair.” She sniffed. Shaw let out a chuckle.  
“So you heard the news.”  
“I have.” She watched as he untied her pants, pulling them down to her ankles, before running his hands back up, resting them at her thighs. She leaned her head back, kissing his neck, sucking on skin, before taking his hands in hers and resting them at her core.  
She was oh so wet and tempting. He closed his eyes, letting her kiss him, the soft touch of her lips combined with the pressure of her body on his.  
“You need to let it go, Mathias. Just give in. I know you love me.” Her hand on his chin, she forced him to look at her. He felt her fingers manipulate his, pressing them in. She let out a gasp, a smile, before continuing.  
“We’re doing nothing wrong.”  
He gazed at her for a time before replying, focusing on pleasuring her.  
“I will try. That’s all I can promise.” He kissed her. Her hands pushed him deeper into the kiss, running through his hair.  
“Good enough, I guess.” She pulled away, taking his hands and pushing them off her. Straddling him, she pressed her breasts against his chest, grinning.  
“I know you missed this.”  
“Of course I did.” It came out as a growl. Her body was toxic. Every inch of it dangerous poison. Focused as he was on her eyes and chest, he didn’t notice her moving her hand below, grasping him in a tight grip. He groaned, his head lolling back against the headboard.  
“Oh hush.” She pushed him inside of her, letting him slip in completely. She was vicelike, warm and inviting. He ran his hands up her back, watching as she bounced on top him, letting her control.  
“Doesn’t mean it’s proper.” She scoffed, digging her nails into his chest.  
“Oh, please. What do you know about propriety?”  
“Nothing, really.” He managed a grin.  
“Just give in. Stop worrying.” She slowed down for a moment, kissing him. He wanted to give in, he really did.  
“We can’t form attachments, Tess.” He managed to pull away. She glared at him. He sucked in a breath, fighting against the overwhelming pleasure.  
“We paint targets on ourselves if we do.”  
“I’m already a target. So are you. It changes nothing.” He shook his head, his drying hair curling slightly, falling into his eyes. Emotion bubbled up inside him. It finally burst forth.  
“I don’t deserve you!” He said it. His hands gripped her body, nails digging into skin. She gazed at him; eyes wide.  
“So that’s it. It’s not about propriety.” He closed his eyes, shaking his head against the embarrassment. He’d kept that in for so long.

“We don’t deserve each other, I think.” She whispered. She cupped his head in her hands, her forehead to his. Their eyelashes touched as he opened his eyes.  
“You’re a princess. Heir to a Kingdom. I’m a hitman.”  
“Heir to a dead Kingdom. And as Princess, I’m allowed to be with whomever I want. And I chose the lowlife hitman, as you call yourself.” She stuck out her tongue. “So there.”

“Ah, Tess. If only it were that simple.”  
“It is. You deserve me. Neither of us are good people.” She paused in her bouncing, her hands once again cupping his cheeks.  
“Forget about it. Just…stop thinking.” He felt himself smile.  
“Fine.” He lost himself in her body, letting her take control. Watching as she ground herself against him, hear her moans of desire, the raw heat.

She was right. He had to let go. It was long past the time. He was leader of nothing now. The Alliance was crumbling. Tess was all he had left, and he would cling to her.


End file.
